


Player Ready

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Minecraft In Real Life, family reunions(in a way)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Technoblade dies. Bummer. Except... no?---Technoblade is a mob, no matter how skilled he may be with a sword. He dies once, he dies forever. Or does he...?
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC
Comments: 53
Kudos: 515
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Techno screams into the void and the void responds with a fatherly hug](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192838) by [ChipperChemical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipperChemical/pseuds/ChipperChemical). 



> HAHAHA I HATE MUFELF FOR GIVING INTO THE URGE TO WRITE THIS JBIJBDWKJDBK

Technoblade feels it in his very bones; today is the day he dies.

He is alone. He had always been alone, no matter how many times he wished not to be. He is laying here, leaned against the rock of cave, surrounded by carcasses of monsters and things that had once been human, and he feels it in his very bones, in the way the blood is pooling under him, the way he stares half lidded at the faraway entrance to the cave he was holed up in. There are dark shadows approaching it, he can see them on the corners of his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He is going to die here, surrounded by bodies of monsters, things he’d killed himself. There are piles of them. He knew then and there; the war had been won.

At the price of his life, the war had been won.

It had never been a question, with him on their side. He had never let it be a question. Techno has always been good at destruction, has always been good at violence. He has always been a weapon. And now he lies here, dying slowly, painfully, bleeding drop of blood by drop of blood. It feels… freeing, in a way. 

Technoblade never dies, but he thinks he can make an exception, just this once, if it will finally allow him to rest.

He allows himself to smile as his comrades approach him, panic on their voices, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

\---

He wakes up to the sound of rushing water and startles upwards, finding himself in his dirtied, tattered clothes and scarred skin where he’d previously been bleeding to death from. 

Looking around, he can clearly make out a small waterfall next to him, the source of the noise of water. He’s currently risen from a bed of fluffy green grass, and is surrounded by dense greenery, oak trees all around him. He snorts, confused, grimacing as his tusks poke his lips uncomfortably. His pink hair covers his eyes, and he sighs, tucking the curtains behind his ear. It was long again, the same length it had been before getting hacked away by a zombie with an axe during the hoard.

He resolved to find a way to tie it back soon, it was annoying when it got in his eyes.

He looks around, trying to figure out what was going on and where he was. It was warm, but not too warm, looking to be the morning, which explained the cool air he was currently inhaling. 

It was… nice. And, for some reason, incredibly suspicious. 

Slowly, he rises, rubbing away the remains of sleep from his eyes, if death could even be called sleep. Except, he _wasn’t_ dead? He was supposed to be dead, anyway. He was an NPC, a non player character. A mob. 

He didn’t respawn. He was supposed to be in whatever underworld existed, in the deepest pits of hell. Not… wherever this was. 

He sighs, reaching towards his stomach, where he’d sustained the worst damage. Everywhere, he can feel the phantom pains of his injuries, throbbing in pain he was sure he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

Still. Breathing in the cool air of the morning, still breathing after what he thought would be his final moments with no injuries in sigh, he can’t help but untense. He could figure out where he was later.

For now, he just stands next to the tiny waterfall, admiring the way his lungs took in air, and relishes in being alive.

\---

This world is much more quieter than the war torn lands he had previously been inhabiting.

He still hadn’t figured out where the hell he was, but he thinks at this point, it’s moot to wonder about it, really. It wasn’t like there was someone waiting for him back at his old kingdom, and the rebellion he had been paid to join had effectively won the war anyways, after Techno had redirected the mobs sent to attack by the kings witches and slaughtered every single one at the price of his well being. He wished he’d been able to stay awake enough to collect his payment, but oh well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was sure the resources would be put to good use, anyways; they could be used to bring about a promising start to the new nation the rebellion had so desperately fought for, the new nation Techno had sacrificed himself for. Dead or not, that stab wound had _hurt_.

Right now, he’s currently trying to make one of the work benches he’d seen in the houses of the many players he’d come across during his travels. Unfortunately, Techno wasn’t exactly well versed in the ways of building like players, and was currently floundering. He’d found a fallen log a bit wayside of the small waterfall he had woken up in that he’d decided was a good source of wood, but he’d been having a hard time figuring out how to turn them into planks so effortlessly like he’d seen players do before. He tried to recall if anyone in his old village had been assigned the role of carpenter, but came up blank. 

He sighed. It was all pointless, wasn’t it? Building was what players did, not NPC’s. At the most, villagers could do specific things, like armoring, mason, or weapons work, but all of that was specific and closed off. They weren’t like players, who had seemingly no limit to professions they could learn. And most of them did it so seamlessly, too. Once, back when he’d still been living back at his village with his mother, a player had come into the village and offered them a seemingly never ending supply of wheat, carrots, and potatoes, all appearing out of nowhere. Like he’d just conjured them into his hand. No one in the village had gone hungry for months; the expense to the town's treasury had been worth it. Even Techno, who had always been shunned by the other villagers, had been given three meals a day for the first time in his life; there had been _that_ much. Another time, a player had come in and had traded a whole stack of enchanted books to the village’s local cleric, all in exchange for some melon seeds from their local farmer. The cleric had spent weeks in the church studying those books, seemingly fascinated with the new enchantments written in them.

It confused Techno, to be honest. Which brought him back to his current predicament; it was midday, and he was still no closer to figuring out how to create a workbench. 

Making a frustrated noise, he set down the fallen log on the ground, barely acknowledging as it cracked in half, and sat down on the grass, scowling tiredly into the vast forest in front of him and pointedly ignoring the log. He missed his cape, he missed his sword, and he missed his hair ties. He was _tired._

He huffed and leaned back, looking up to the canopy of trees above him. The sky was a deep blue, and clouds lazily drifted forwards, passing him by and offering temporary shade as they went overhead. Techno felt himself begin to relax, slowly, and let go of his frustration and anger. All that was left was a deep sense of exhaustion at the fact that he was here, alone, and slightly hungry at having not eaten anything in hours, wearing tattered clothes with no resources. He turned back to the log next to him, gearing up to look at it exhaustedly for a moment before he made his way back to the clearing where he’d awoken from, but tensed at the sight in front of him, eyes widening.

There where two uneven logs that should sit, splintered from their tussle on the ground, sat four perfectly cut pristine logs of oak, all uneven following the line of what used to be a fallen tree. Techno blinked, standing--there was no way the log could have splintered into such small pieces, at the exact same length, from the way it had been brought down on the ground. It should be in two, and uneven at the breaks. That made no sense--Technoblade had seen villagers bring down and break trees before, back at their old war camp when there were no spare axes around and they needed fuel for their fires. Hell, he’d helped bring down a few when he hadn’t been busy tending to his injuries from the proceeding battles. Logs didn’t do that.

At least, they didn’t do that for mobs like him.

He looked down at the four perfectly cut logs and reached out to collect them, sighing. If he couldn't make a workbench or building materials out of them, he could at least use them to make a nice fire. He’d seen a few chickens roaming around; if he could catch a few, they'd make for a good meal. Before he could cement the thought in his mind, however, the logs in his hands suddenly began to rattle, startling Techno and ending up making him fling them back to the ground. He watched, transfixed, as the four logs were encased in a purple-green shimmer, reminiscent to the glow of the enchanted library and weapons the toolsmith and cleric had hoarded back in the village, and individually split and morphed into wide rectangles, glow receding shortly after. In the place of the logs, sixteen wooden planks sat in their place, perfectly sanded and oiled. Techno stared at the pieces of wood with morbid awe.

He breathed in sharply, then hesitantly approached the small pile of planks. Picking one up, he observed the normal seeming plank of wood, turning it around a few times. It seemed perfectly normal, no trace of the shimmering it had done earlier. 

Techno let out a startled laugh, uncomprehending. An idea sparkling from his mind, he grabbed four from the pile after a moment of hesitance and held them in his hands, turning them over and seeing if they did anything. Again, they seemed perfectly normal. Techno had almost been expecting them to start glowing randomly like the planks they had been before, but it seemed that whatever influence that had caused the strange magic had decided to leave these planks alone. 

He blinked down at the planks, suddenly feeling foolish. Well, even if he didn’t have a workbench, at least he had some building materia--

Techno dropped the planks as if they had burned them once they started to glow, screaming a bit in surprise. Before he knew it, there it was; the exact workbench he’d seen in every home of every player he had ever met. The same painted design and grid as before.

Techno stared at it for a moment, eyebrow twitching, grimace on his face. The workbench sat innocently on, completely normal and not glowing or anything. Absolutely, positively normal.

Techno let out a laugh bordering on hysterical.

What the fuck.

\---

After another minor staring contest, Techno had carefully approached the workbench and carried it back to the clearing with the waterfall, setting it down carefully on the grass. He brought the planks back too, and after looking at all the supplies he had acquired wearily, set out to make himself some sticks in the hopes of hopefully making himself a sword. He’d actually seen players make tools on these benches before, and it all depended on where he placed various items on the grid delicately painted on top of the workbench. He set two planks down on top of the thing, and like magic, four sticks morphed out of them. He picked them up, observing them, and placed one in the middle lower square, placing two planks above it. Again, the magic came, except this time, it morphed the wood into a sharp and sanded wooden sword. Techno stared at it in amazement, admiring the craftsmanship; a sword like this would have taken weeks to sand down back in his old village. Unfortunately, it wasn’t particularly strong, but it would do for now. He looked down at his belt and let out a breath of relief when he saw he still had his scabbard, even if it was missing a sword. He sheathed the wooden weapon and looked back to the workbench, thinking. It was obvious there was a lot of tools and supplies he could do with it, but he was obviously extremely inexperienced in making literally anything. He was unfamiliar with the patterns he needed to make different things, and it wasn’t like anyone was around to ask. 

He sighed. Spotting a chicken wobbling away a few steps from him, he decided he might as well give the workbench a rest for now and go get something to eat; he was starving.

Two hours later, he found himself toasting four chicken carcasses over a fire, fed by planks and some sticks. It was good enough until he could get some coal or charcoal to properly fuel it.

It was evening by now, and Techno found himself becoming weary at the thought of the night that was rapidly approaching. He had no shelter currently, and while he distinctly disliked the idea of fighting hostile mobs all night, it was looking more and more like that would become his reality soon.

He sighed. So much for rest. It seemed Technoblade would never get a respite from fighting.

Still. At least he knew he wouldn't be dying anytime soon. The chances of getting mobbed like before were incredibly slim as long as no large concentration of witches was around. Techno could take a few zombies and skeletons, all he had to do now was wait.

\---

Later in the night, long after the sun has set, Techno finds himself staring blankly at the pile of bones that had previously been a skeleton, reaching down to take the bow it had dropped with it and the few scattering of arrows that hadn’t been splintered by its heavy bones. Behind him, he can hear the draw of a bow once more, and without blinking, he spins around and stabs the other skeleton straight in the chest, snapping it’s ribs. It drops like a marionette with its strings cut. This one has no salvageable arrows; Techno resists the urge to curse. 

It’s been like this all night, with Techno killing mobs left and right. While this was no hoard, he had found himself with a few too many scrapes to his liking. Luckily, he hadn’t been shot yet, and the most zombies did when approaching was punch and claw at his arms. He had always been immune to the zombie virus, being half piglin, so it doesn't really matter if they scraped him or not. It was fine.

The more annoying buggers were the spiders and creepers. He lets himself breathe a sigh of relief that the mob he had fought before hadn’t contained any creepers in them; if it had he’d have fallen much sooner. 

He sighs. He can feel the exhaustion creeping up his body, and that coupled with the remains of the phantom pains from before was mahjong him slowly. Maybe he should have gone ahead and made a shelter earlier, it would have made things so much easier. 

As it stands, the bigger issue now is figuring out where to store all the various drops he was currently leaving behind. He was certain that if he found a village, he could trade the spider eyes for a good amount of emeralds. 

He spots a creeper from the corner of his eye and draws his bow, shooting it straight through it’s deformed chest. It dies after a few more arrows, and Techno goes in to sweep some gunpowder from it’s chest by cutting upen the green skin and extracting it from it’s chest, using his leather belt to make makeshift pouches to store it in. He flounders for a bit, remembering he had no pack or satchel to put the gunpowder in. He sighs.

If only he had somewhere to put all his stuff in. Oh well--

He almost screams when a white void opens up in front of him, blinding in the night. He blinks. Inside, there seems to be a green book, as well as a piece of paper. He reaches for it, and brings it out of the white hole with ease. It’s an empty map. He makes a sour face; why do these weird things keep happening to him? He reaches for the green book as well, and opens it to reveal a self named recipe for oak plank staircases. His eyes widen as he flips through the pages; these were the patterns for the grid on the workbench! Hell, the pattern for the workbench itself was also here, with illustrations and everything, describing the process to make it and how to operate it... 

Techno would have read more, but at that moment, he spotted a zombie lugging along towards him, and turned away to kill it quickly, green book still in his hands. When he turns back, the white void is gone, but before techno has time to panic, it pops up again, seemingly willed into existence by his mind. Attempting to return the book where he found it, he reaches into the seeming pocket dimension, placing it there and leaving it floating in the exact spot he had let go of the thing. He looks back to the makeshift pouches of gunpowder he’d placed unceremoniously on the floor; picking them up and putting them in the void left them floating right next to the book, seemingly frozen in time. Techno resisted the urge to grin. This solved the issue of storage pretty aptly. He quickly shoves the spider eyes and random mob drops he’d been collecting into the pocket, but hesitates with the arrows. He… kind of needed those at the moment. 

Once he’s finished, he blinks his eyes, and the pocket of white is gone. Just like that.

Techno feels the elation in his veins at the discovery, looks down at his hands, and wonders.

\---

He sleeps for a total of four hours, once the morning sun has risen enough to burn the zombies and skeletons still roaming around in the night's wake. When he wakes, he looks down at his tattered shirt and pants, and at his worn boots, and resolves to find a village to shack in where he can find new clothes and somewhere warm to sleep in.

Before all of that, however, he takes some time to summon the white pocket and read through the green book he’d found in it, looking at the frost few recipes. Tools were featured first, then a bed, then different, other benches like a fletching table and cartography table and a furnace, a smoker, ect. The recipes get more complicated as the pages go on, and Techno feels fascinated by it all. So much that could be done with a single thought and what teh book had aptly named a crafting table…

The book had warned him in the beginning pages, however, that there was a limited number of things he could craft using enchanting before he became too fatigued, however, which is what the book had called the seemingly automated way the logs had turned into planks and the sticks and planks into a sword. It advised to actually create some things by hand, and only use immediate crafting for emergencies, like in the middle of fights or high stakes situations. Techno immediately resolved to do everything by hand from then on; maybe for others, a little bit of fatigue was fne, but for Techno, who was one of the best mercenaries out there, or used to be, anyway, it could be detrimental in a fight. Luckily, there were sets of instructions in the book as well on how to make things by hand, so he wouldn’t be going into it blind. 

Once he’d finished flipping through the book, he opened up the pocket again and put it inside, turning to look at the crafting table and pile of planks inquisitively. He picked the tabel up and carefully neared the pocket, testing if he could be left inside. Surprisingly, it fit through, and like everything else, floated inside the pocket. The planks followed, and just like that, Techno was ready to go. He stamped out the campfire and readied himself for a possibly long journey; they usually contained a lot of walking and a fair bit of gnawing hunger, but Techno was no stranger to starvation. He’d live.

\---

He walked for three days straight, stumbling into the closest village covered in dried blood and looking half dead from exhaustion. Not one of his proudest moments. As soon as he’d become visible to the other villagers, Techno had been expecting them to recoil, but strangely enough, what looked like the local cleric had come running towards him as soon as they had spotted him, followed by what looked like the village butcher and toolsmith. They had all been wearing clothing corresponding to their respective professions, which had made it easy to recognize them. 

“Are you alright?” the village cleric had asked, an old looking man with wrinkled hands and a leathery face, but at that point, Techno had been a bit too out of it to respond. He had just nodded, but it had been obvious he was lying. The three villagers had all exchanged glances before pulling him up from the floor, of which he had just realized he’d fallen onto, and had carefully guided him towards the inn a bit of ways away. Techno had just let himself be guided, collapsing into the guest bed he’d been led to as soon as he was close enough and falling asleep instantly, lulled by the soft sheets.

When he’d woken, a woman in a butchers apron had offered him a bowl of rabbit stew and had smiled apologetically at him as he drank it, making sure he didn’t accidentally spill it. After a subsequent bowl of water to wash the stew down with, the woman had sat down on the seat next to him and had engaged in idle conversation with him.

“You’ve caused quite a stir in the town, young man. Care to give me your name?” she had said gently, and he’d coughed the syllables out as aptly as he could. 

“T-Techno. Technoblade.”

“Ah, what a unique name. I’m Kellen, it’s nice to meet you. Our local cleric has been worried about you. How did you get so many injuries?” she had asked softly, and it had gone like that, with the kind looking butcher gently questioning him, asking about his presence and where he’d come from. He’d told her he had been looking for a village for three days straight, the villager looking appalled when he’d admitted to not sleeping for all of those three days. He’d told her there’d been no point in bringing him in for healing; he would have recovered soon enough, but the woman had assured him that while his injuries hadn’t been deadly, they had still been worthy of treatment. Techno gets the feeling the thing that had knocked him out had been the exhaustion, not his injuries, but doesn’t bother mentioning it. 

“You can stay as long as you need,” she had told him, “But please, once you’re better, well, I don’t want to be rude, but…”  
  


Techno waved a hand at the nervous tone, rolling his eyes.

“It’s fine. I’m a good monster hunter, or I can help till and harvest your crops. I know how it goes.” he’d rasped.

The woman had sighed in relief and had smiled. 

Techno had drifted off to sleep again after she had taken her leave, awakening again a few hours later in the middle of the night, the only light source emitted but the torches set beside the bed. He had risen slowly, and had looked at his injuries after waking himself up fully.

They were all bandaged and treated, and the craftsmanship was clear in the weaving of the bandages. Techno had sighed, then, looking around at the inn, realizing belatedly that he was the only current guest.

He’d stood up, startling at finding himself wearing newly repaired and washed clothing. It was the same old clothes, just cleaner and stitched closed where they had been slashed before. He grimaced. He hated being treated by clerics for this reason as well; they always insisted on washing a patient's clothes. 

Walking outside, he found the village almost peaceful, the paths empty and devoid of villagers. It only made sense, of course; it was night, and things were always more dangerous at night. Still, he had an unfortunate debt to repay, so he made his way over to the weaponsmiths and found the shop still open, torches still burning with light inside. Entering the small shop, he saw the toolsmith and armorer still hard at work at whatever projects they were working on, only stopping to glance up at him. 

“Do you guys have a mob watch?” he asked, a bit awkwardly. This made the armorer look up from the chest plate he was working on, looking at him with a critical eye.

“They’re all in the field. What’s it to you?” he’d grouched. Techno had to resist the urge to waddle out the store immediately.

“Knock it off, Tawny. The kid has a right to ask questions.” The toolsmith had said from his own workbench, and Techno felt himself startle. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him as a kid before; for his age, Techno knew he looked pretty old.

“I dunno, I’m a pretty good fighter. Just thought I’d get the debt out of the way.” Techno hears himself say, and almost flinches at the defensiveness and apathy that had creeped into his tone. The armorer rolls his eyes at him.

“Sure. As if a kid like you knows anything about fighting with the big boys. You’re what, sixteen?”

“Seventeen.” Techno corrects, frowning. His voice sounds unexpectedly and uncharacteristically cold. 

“Barely three years into training. You won’t last an hour, kid.”

Techno finds himself missing something else, now, and that was his boar mask. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about it. And this just served as a reminder of why he wore it in the first place. Techno’s stature may be mature, but his face was still annoyingly youthful. 

“Hmph.” he huffs, and just turns around to leave the shop. The toolsmith stops him.

“Here. Just in case you decide to get reckless.” they say as they hand over an iron sword. The armorer glares daggers at them, but the villager doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Thanks.” he says, and is out the door. 

In the morning, he returns to find both men drinking tea, and lets the stone sword fall on top of their counter with aloud clang, relishing in their expressions when they look up and see him covered in blood. 

“It's not mine.” he says before they can ask. “Thanks for letting me borrow the sword.”

Then he’s off to the cleric, looking to sell the large amount of spider eyes and rotten flesh now sitting in his pocket. 

\---

“Do you trade for rotten flesh?” he asks the cleric once he finally finds his way to the church. The man raises an eyebrow at him.

“I do.” he says, and Techno reaches into his pocket, bringing out a pile of it and offering it to the man, who immediately balks. 

“How much for all of this?” he asks, straight to the point. The man takes them from his hands and counts them all, nodding as he goes through the large pile.

“Five emeralds for all of this, I think. “

Techno shrugs. Five emeralds was more than no emeralds.

“Do you take spider eyes too?” he asks, and the cleric once again nods.

“I do.” he says.

Techno proceeds to take out another pile of spider eyes from his pocket.

“Another five emeralds, I think.” the cleric says as he counts all the eyes. Techno shrugs again.

He leaves the church with ten emeralds in his pocket.

\---

“Are you a player?” one of the village’s children asks him once he goes into the town later that day. He blinks down at the blonde haired child, inching backwards slowly. He was terrible with kids.

“Um. No.” he says.

The little girl giggles.

“Mommy said that I’m a player! She said that when I grow up, I can get my own world!” she says excitedly.

“That’s… nice.” he says. It’s strange. Back at his own kingdom, people had never been so open to conversation with him before. Children like the little girl in front of him had cowered when they had caught sight of him, the feared Technoblade, mercenary and esteemed soldier. Now, here he was, making conversation with a random kid off the street.

“You have weird teeth. Why is that?” she asks innocently, and that’s the exact moment Techno spots her mother behind her, running up to them at top speed. 

“Uhh…” he trails off, and the mother finally reaches the girl, grabbing her in her arms and smiling at Techno apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry, she has trouble with boundaries, you see, boundaries…”

“It’s fine…” Techno mutters, tilting his head at the woman. She looks at him with a strange expression, and then suddenly seems to freeze. Techno smiles nervously, the curses himself as he realizes how it exposes his fangs even further. 

“Oh. You must be… you must be the boy they found, yesterday. The piglin boy.” she says, smiling, but it looks strained. 

“Um. Half, actually. ‘M Techno.” he says, and the woman stops. Just. Looks, at him, with eyes zeroed in right at him. 

“Oh.” she says, and it sounds incredibly faint. 

“I’m sorry, but, um, I think I’m gonna go.” Techno finally says, and turns around, running in the opposite direction. He doesn’t see the woman reach out after him, almost running after him, or the child in her arms watch him go. 

\---

“You’re leaving?” the cleric says, a tone of resignation in his voice a week later. Techno nods. He had been working in the village all week to pay back their hospitality, but today, he finally had everything he needed to continue on and leave. He’d even been able to save up for a nice new cloak to cover the tatters that were his old clothes. 

“I think it’s time for me to go.” he says, and the old man nods. 

“There’s another village like ours down on the east. If you ever wish to return, feel free to do so, dear boy. We will welcome you wholeheartedly.”

Techno nods, affording a small smile in the man's direction. 

“Oh, one more thing,” Techno says as he’s leaving out the church door, “What kingdom are we in?” he asks the cleric. The man just raises an eyebrow.

“Kingdoms? There are no kingdoms. Just the world.”

“Oh.” said Techno. “Then who’s world is this, then?”

The cleric had smiled, then, a wistful smile that said many things and nothing at all.

“We call it: The Land of Phil.”

  
  



	2. A Glimpse Into Freedom

Techno feels like he’s at a standstill, here. 

He’s clearly not just a mob anymore. He’s not just an NPC. The thing was: there was no way he could be a player.

Players weren't made. They were born, like that girl in the village he’d talked to had probably been born a player. Techno hadn’t. He’d been born as a hybrid between a piglin and a normal villager, to be raised with his villager mother once she had been “rescued” from the nether.

(He had heard her cry at night, holding a locket made of complete gold in her hands. Techno had managed to pry it open once; it had depicted a portrait of his mother and a piglin man, both smiling, holding a bundle in their arms. There had been a wall of red behind them, and Techno was certain the portrait spell to cast the memory into the locket had been performed in the nether. It was still a mystery how his mother had gotten into the nether in the first place, but it didn’t matter much now; he could barely remember what she looked like, anyway.)

So why could he suddenly do things that only players could do?

Crafting. Mining. Building. There were all things mostly exclusive to players. So why could Techno suddenly do them all with ease? Well, not with ease, per say, he was still struggling with learning the ropes on his off time, but still; the fact of the matter is that he wasn’t supposed to be able to do these things at all. 

God. He was already so tired of this train of thought.

He’d been traveling to the village to the east for a week, stopping to take naps along the way in an attempt to avoid a repeat of what happened in the last village. Sometimes it was difficult to sleep, still, when his thought had a habit of drifting back to his time as a mercenary and hired rebel, but he did get some rest, at least.

It was strange, thinking of himself as a war veteran. But it was what he was, wasn’t it? He was only seventeen and he'd already fought in a war.

Funny how this new world could make him lower his defenses in this way. It made him realize the truth of who he was: just a kid who liked to play god. 

Still, no matter how nice this world was, he would prefer not to meet its mysterious owner. The cleric had specified a bit more before Techno left about this mysterious Phil; he was a player that lived here, and it was rumored that two other players liked to roam around with him whenever he was seen. He used to be more active a few years ago, he’d been told, but was now settled in an unknown location with the other two players accompanying him. 

It was well known in servers like the one Techno had come from with kingdoms that worlds existed, places uniquely matched to suit a specific aspect of the player claiming it. It would seem this Phil was a pretty friendly person, if his world was so peaceful. Techno could only consider himself lucky for ending up here.

Still. He was never the peaceful type. While being a mercenary wasn’t the safest profession, it was one that paid well, and it would only take rising his reputation as one to bring him back to the high paying jobs he had been offered frequently back at his old world. Unfortunately, that meant he would have to do quite a bit of travel to get his name out there, and Techno had never liked socializing. 

He munches on a loaf of bread as he thinks. 

Compared to the large pool of resources he’d had back in his old world, he had nothing right now. All he currently had was a small pouch of emeralds currently in his void pocket, along with some building materials and logs he’d stopped to collect on his way to this eastern village he’d been sent on the way of. He’d eventually been able to figure out how to make a stone furnace on the crafting table, following the book's instructions, and cook himself some beef he’d been able to harvest from a wandering cow. He’d also been able to get some wool from a sheep he’d killed for food, of which he planned to use to commission at least a new shirt from the easter village’s shepard, if they even had one. Maybe he’d even be able to get it dyed. 

There had been a recipe for dyeing in the crafting book, but he’d decided not to do anymore immediate crafting for now. With the amount of energy he was using up while he traveled, he found the idea of adding on more fatigue to that troubling.

Still. The point still stood: Techno was traveling with little to no resources. He had no armor, and the most he’d been able to craft with the things he’d gathered was a stone sword, which was an upgrade to the previous wooden one, but practically nothing compared to the iron and occasional diamond sword he’d grown accustomed to. He’d been able to acquire a diamond sword in his old world after climbing the ranks of the rebellion, in an attempt to maximize his damage output. It had worked, he supposed, as it had made him infinitely more dangerous, but had also made him unaccustomed to working with weaker weapons.

For now, Techno just sighed and looked up at the starry sky, watching the moon drift lazily overhead as night took its course. He’d been able to get his hands on some charcoal and had used it to make torches, another plus of the furnace. He didn’t need to worry about fighting mobs for now, at least.

He was worried, a bit, about the demand of mercenaries in this world. From what he’d seen, there was no real conflict here, just peaceful villages living in self moderation. Then again, Pillagers were a problem everywhere he’d ever gone, so maybe there would be a need for his skills despite this world's peaceful nature after all.

He felt his eyes begin to drift closed, feeling himself become sleepy, but before he could fall asleep for good, he felt something sharp go through his entire body, and he sat up in an instant. Yelping at the unnatural pain, he looked around for the source, but found nothing; yet, there was a strange echo in his mind that hadn’t been there before. He breathed.

_Tommyinnit was blown up by a creeper,_ rang in his mind. Techno scrunched up his face in confusion, staring at the grass under him blankly. Who the fuck was Tommyinnit?

He decided he didn’t give a shit, and flopped over onto the ground once more, chasing sleep. He drifted off slowly and let himself fall into slumber.

\---

Three days later, he arrived at the eastern village and immediately asked around for any nearby lakes or rivers he could go to bathe in. He was directed to one close to the village, but still shrouded in forest, about four hours away. He took a quick detour there, taking his time washing the grime off his body and washing his clothes, of which had coated themselves in grime and dirt. There were unholy amounts of bloodstains on them, and he was forever thankful for the cloak he had been able to acquire at the other village, since it covered up his under clothes pretty well. It was also thick and a dark red, better for blending in during the night and for keeping warm in particularly cold weather. He set up a camp and stuck around there until his clothes finished drying, only then returning to the eastern village. 

Once he looked at this village more closely, however, it was clear it was very different from the one he had just come from. It looked like this one had more resources in general. The buildings were taller, their designs were grander. There were more kids than usual wandering the streets and playing games, and more villagers than he was accustomed to seeing roaming the paths and working at their respective jobs.

Overall, the place seemed… nice. Cozy. He spotted at least three iron golems wandering around, with a trail of children following, and Techno almost smiled. It reminded him of his own fascination with the golems when he’d been a child.

Still. It would probably be better to avoid the iron monstrosities for now, as some iron golems he had come across before had sometimes mistaken him for a hostile mob because of his tusks and likeness to piglins. It would be unfortunate to get punted into the forest again when he’d spent so long trying to get here.

“Do you guys have a shepard here?” he’d asked one woman who had been passing by. She had blinked at him, seemingly processing the question, before smiling.

“Ah, yes. Their shop is all the way down the village; you can’t miss it, the sheep will give it away, trust me.” she replied, and Techno had thanked her as she’d continued on to her destination, lugging a cart of apples behind her. He’d sighed, then walked in the direction she had pointed to, coming to a stop in front of the shop. It was obvious, like she’d said; the sheer volume of the overflowing sheep’s pen he could only assume was behind the building was deafening.

“Hello!” the shepherd cheerily greeted him when he entered the workshop through the front door. Techno had waved awkwardly back.

“Um, hi. I need a new shirt; how much if I provide the wool?” he said, and the man had raised a finger to his chin in thought.

“Well, if you have enough for a full swath of fabric for the shirt, then it would be seven emeralds, I think. If you want the needling to be sturdy, of course.”

Techno sighed, but coughed up the emeralds and gave the man the pile of wool. He’d smiled and recommended he stay at the inn while he began the process of tailoring the shirt; Techno had left him with his measurements before leaving, promised a week’s wait. 

Walking into the inn, he noticed the innkeeper seemed to double as the village’s leatherworker from the leather outfit they were wearing. The man smiled a friendly smile and gave Techno a key in exchange for two emeralds, the price of a one night stay. 

“Do y'all happen to have a carpenter, here?” he’d asked the man, and he’d nodded, pointing him to a building beside the farmer’s fields.

This time, he was greeted by a lady covered in sawdust, sporting a small frown and unusually inquisitive eyes.

“Whaddya want?” she’d snapped, barely turning to look at him from her work. 

“Do you make custom masks?” he’d asked, and she’d turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s a kid like you plannin’ to do with a mask?” she’d shot back almost immediately.

Techno had frowned a bit; that was exactly what he’d intended to do with it. To stop those questions, stop the way everyone seemingly coddled him after taking one look at his youthful face. It was getting goddamn annoying. 

“How much for a custom mask?” he asked again, and the woman turned to look at him once again, distaste clear in her features. She observed him for a moment.

“Twenty for a moderately complicated design, thirty of ya want it painted. Now scram.” she resumed ignoring him.

Techno kind of preferred it when people ignored him because of his pigling features instead of his age, it had seemed a bit more justified.

Taking out twenty emeralds, he set them down on the counter in front of him and stared at the carpenter, mouth set on a thin line. She stopped her work finally, and turned to him fully, then looked down at the pile of emeralds. She huffed.

“What design do you want?” she’d grouched, setting her hands on her hips.

“A boar, no tusks. I have those covered.” he told her. Hse looked at him for a moment, then turned to her workstation and grabbed a plank of wood, holding it up to his face. Techno resisted the urge to snap her arm in half at the fast motion; it would be a bad time for everyone if he broke someone's arm.

After a moment, she set the wood back down and nodded.

“It'll be done in five days. Now scram, for good this time.” she scooped the emeralds into a box, placed it behind the counter where Techno couldn’t see, and resumed her work. 

He left with no more complaints.

\---

Three days later, he jerks to the sensation of the shiver he’d felt before in the woods and shaked his head, grimacing. There was another echo in his mind again, with a different message this time.

_WilburSoot fell from a high place._

Techno shook the message away and resumed hoeing the ground with his borrowed tool, watching the farmer a few ways away do the same. The man looked at him curiously.

“Did a player die, or something?” he said, brow raised.

“I dunno.” Techno had responded, and resumed tilling the soil. The man had stared at him for some time, seemingly thinking.

“Are you sure you’re not a player?” he asked, not for the first time. Techno just shrugged.

“Wasn’t born as one.” he said, and left it at that.

This only seemed to raise more questions, but the man returned to his harvest with little resistance. His brows never unknitted themselves from each other, however.

Techno felt himself relate a bit too much.

\---

Four days into his stay at the eastern village, a raid happens. 

According to the local cleric, one of the villagers who were a part of the mob watch had stumbled on a pillager scouting party, and had accidentally led them back to his group. There had been two casualties, but the mob watch had been able to get rid of the rest of the pillagers pretty successfully.

Except they had unfortunately forgotten the one rule to pillager battles: never, _ever_ kill the leader. 

One of them had effectively gotten himself cursed, and hadn’t realized it until he’d passed through the borders of the village and the pillagers had started spawning. The idiot had led the grey bastards right to them, carrying their plans to fruition pretty effectively. Techno found himself outside, watching the destruction take place and various villagers run back towards their homes. Techno had huffed, annoyed.

He could never catch a goddamn break.

He’d ran to the blacksmith shop in record speed, finding the armorer, toolsmith, and weaponsmith panicking and cursing respectively. 

“Do you have any weapons or armor I can borrow?” he’d said, but hadn’t expected much. He could kill the pillagers with or without armor, it was the weapon he was counting on. They were bound to have at least an iron sword, it would make things infinitely easier.

Sure enough, the weaponsmith provided him with a sturdy iron sword to use, and while the armorer wasn’t able to give him much, he _was_ able to cough up an iron helmet. It was better than nothing, he supposed. 

Throwing himself into the frey, he was able to effectively hold back the pillagers, deflecting their arrows and catching their axes. He had stopped by the flething shop as well to borrow a bow and arrows for the ravagers: the fletcher had been exceptionally kind and had given him some poison tipped arrows as well.

At the end of it all, Techno had found himself breathing raggedly as he speared through the final pillager, covered in blood and feeling exhausted. The carcasses were already fading into smoke, the enchantment that had brought them here fading and teleporting their bodies back to whatever mansion they had holed themselves up in. There were no survivors.

He leaned on his sword, feeling his knees shake from exertion. All around him, villagers were starting to come out of their homes, looking around at the fading corpses wearily. Techno saw a shadow approach him, and looked up to a wry looking farmer holding his unusually sharp hoe.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not a player?” he’d said, a smug smile pulling at his lips. 

Techno laughed more than he probably should have. It wasn’t his fault, it really was funny.

\---

The shepard had dropped off his new shirt barely the next day, crying tears of gratitude as he handed the newly tailored clothing. He also insisted on gifting him some free pants, too, both items stark white and weaved sturdy, with fine, tiny stitches. The craftsmanship was commendable, but the man had refused to accept any more emeralds for his work. He had left soon after. 

Techno had gone to wash his cloak over at the leatherworkers, remembering that they had cauldrons at the ready, and had quickly become uncomfortable from the stares of awe that had been directed his way. As soon as the fabric had been scrubbed clean of blood, he had hung it to dry at the leatherworkers permission and made his way back to the inn, buying a bucket from the blacksmiths and filling it with water to scrub his hair and face clean of blood. Soon enough, his hair was back to its regular cotton candy shade, and looking at himself in the reflection of the now muddy water, Techno could see no more red creeping onto his face, just the regular crisscrossing of scars that marred his cheeks and skin like always. 

The next day, the carpenter woman had walked up to him herself while Techno had been on his way to her shop, meeting him halfway, and had shoved the boar mask at him brazenly, eyes narrowed and standing tall. Techno had taken it in his hands, realizing with a start that it had been painted a clear shade of nether pink. He’d looked up at the woman, surprised.

“Take it. Oh, and here,” she had shoved an enchanted book towards him as well, “take it to the librarian. He can enchant it for you.” then she was gone, walking back to her shop at a brisk pace. Techno observed the mask in his hands, blinking. Opening the book in his hands, it was a book for Unbreaking III, as well as obe he didn’t exactly recognize. He’d huffed, more than confused at the woman's antics: he was just happy he had his mask, now. He made his way to the librarian almost immediately, the man giving him an awed expression once he caught sight of him. 

Techno offered the book to him, then the mask, and the man seemed to immediately;y understand. He took the items without a word.

After disappearing behind various bookshelves for a few moments, the man returned with a shimmering mask, the shine subtler than the glow characteristic to enchanted weapons and armor. 

“What did the second enchantment do?” Techno had asked, and the man had smiled.

“It will allow you to put on the mask without a strap; it will stay glued to your face unless you take it off or it breaks. Which won't be a problem for a long time, I presume.”

Techno nods, watching with slight fascination as the mask shimmers in his fingers. Then, he places it over his face. Delicate in the way he reaches up to set it in place, and hesitatingly letting his fingers let go of the wooden thing. And just like that, Techno was whole. 

“Thank you,” he tells the librarian. And the man nods, smile never dimming. Then Techno was off again, back towards the inn to collect his things. All his loose ties were finished; onto the next village, he supposed.

NBefore he’d left, he’d used the last of his emeralds to buy a single diamond sword from the local weaponsmith.

Clad in his new clothes, warmed by his red cloak, hair loose and mask over his face, he grips his new sword tighter.

Things are finally starting to make sense.

\---

Phil sighs, watching as Tommy and Wilbur begin bickering again. 

It had been like this ever since Wilbur had respawned. Both Wilbur and Tommy had gotten themselves killed in an unusually close time window, leaving them both irritated once they had woken up from their deaths. Wilbur had been snappish the whole time, hogging the blankets and muttering about his legs, which had probably snapped in half when he’d fallen before he’d died completely. Tommy had taken to complaining about his own fading phantom pains, and then they’d call each other assholes and stop speaking for hours, until the cycle inevitably started up all over again.

It had been happening like this for days. And Phil was so, _so_ tired.

They had been traveling the world for weeks now, searching for the new player that had joined Phil’s world about a month ago. Going through villages and various forest biomes, it had all been fruitless so far, and Phil was honestly considering turning around and carrying both of his boys back by the ear so he could go search himself in peace, subsequently covering more ground with his wings. But unfortunately, it would probably be highly irresponsible to leave Tommy and Wilbur behind, no matter how much he wanted to. 

Besides, if this was a new spawn child like they thought, it would probably be best for all three to be there to collect him. Family bonding, and all that.

“--guitars are _clearly_ superior, Tommy, I don’t know what you’re _talking_ about--”

“--oh, please, you’re just saying that because you play guitar. Guess what? Guitars don’t get you _women_ , bitch boy--”

_“Yes they fucking do--”_

**_“Guys!”_ **he finally snaps. Both of them freeze, looking up, startled, and Tommy shifts in his iron armor. The both wait as Phil rubs his temples; he was so fucking tired.

“Please. Just, _please_ can I get one moment of fuckin silence before we arrive? Please?” he sighs, and both boys glance at each other guiltily. They nod.

“Sorry, Phil. We were just playing around.” Tommy says.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean to stress you out.” Wilbur mumbles in agreement. Phi smiles in relief.

“Thank you. I know you’ve both been feeling shitty after the respawn--”

“No, we’re fine! We swear!” Wilbur interrupts, and Tommy nods, pasting on a smile. Well, as much of a convincing smile as an eleven year old could smile. 

“Okay, good. Now, we’re going to be arriving at one of the modified villages soon, so you guys should probably start planning what you’re gonna want to buy once we get there.”

“Oh! Can I get some more ender pearls? I’ve been running kind of low--”

“I was thinking of getting some string for my guitar, if it’s okay--” both speak at the same time, and Phil quirks a smile.

“As long as you can both afford it, you can get whatever you want, alright?” Phil tells them, and they both nod, trying to hide their excitement. Wilbur adjusts his beanie and pokes Tommy in the cheek, which earns him a raspberry from Tommy in return. Thankfully, it doesn’t erupt in a fight.

Phil had to admit, this wasn’t the direction he’d been expecting the month to turn a few weeks ago when he’d gotten the message a new player had spawned in his world. It wasn’t that Phil wasn’t open to the idea of another spawn child, it was just that, well, players like Phil didn’t usually get more than two spawn children in the first place. To think there could be a third child coming to live with them soon, well, it made him just a little bit excited. Tommy and Wilbur could always use another brother, after all. 

Still, the possibility stood that this new player could just be a random immigrant from another server, who had wandered in by accident. It wouldn’t be the first time; players like those usually didn’t stick around long enough for Phil to find them, anyway, leaving once they realized they had joined the wrong world.

Except if that was the case, the new player would have left already, he was certain of it. They had gotten no exit notification, so Phil had decided to take his chances.

And now they were here, arriving at one of the first villages Phil remembers modifying. Both Tommy and Wilbur grin, mischievous by nature, but Phil himself stops at the entrance gate, brows knitting together.

“Was there… was there a raid here?” he hears himself ask to no one in particular. Some of the buildings were damaged, and there were arrows embedded on the roofs of many structures. Demolished trees littered the pathways, and he could see a group of villagers rebuilding a cracked path a bit of ways away. 

“Sure was.” he hears behind him, and spins around to see one of the farmers approaching him, holding an iron hoe in his hands and a handful of wheat in the other.

“John! What happened?” Phil asks, worried. He sees Wilbur and Tommy looking around as well from the corner of his eye and sees their grimaces and concerned expressions. 

“There was a scouting party that got caught up with our mob watch. One of our own got himself cursed, accidentally triggered a raid.” the man responds. “Don’t worry about it, Phil, we got it taken care of.”

“We?” they hear behind them, and turning once again, they come face to face with the grouchy carpenter that inhabited the woodsman shop. “The’re wasn’t a _we_ , there was only that kid. Cut down every single one of them single handedly. Gotta admit, it was quite a show.” She was carrying a pile of wooden planks in her arms, looking over at them with a disinterested scowl.

“Speaking of that kid, Phil, have you gotten any new players recently?” John asks beside him, and Phil frowns.

“Yes, actually. We’ve been searching for them, going through villages and whatnot-- I’m sorry, did you say that a kid took down the entirety of a raid single handedly?”

“Holy shit, really?” Tommy says from behind him. 

“Wait, what did he look like?” Wilbur asks, also just as curious, but Phil holds out a hand to stop them. 

“Jenna, who completed the raid? Where are they?”

“Left town just a few days ago, actually. Had long pink hair, commissioned a mask from me before he left. He was more of an awkward teen than anything, but he sure knows how to handle a sword.”

“Oh yeah, caught a glimpse of the mask before he left; appropriately ominous, I’d say. And also some of your best work, Jenna.” John the farmer says, amused smile bubbling up at the murderous glare she gives him.

“Shut up, you suck up. Go help your wife with yer three kids, Notch knows they’re hellions.”

“Jenna! My children are little _angels--_ ”

“Both of you, where did the kid go?” Phil interrupts, coming in between them. The villagers glance at each other, a strange expression passing through their faces.

“He told me he was heading over to the next village from here. Said he was trying to establish a reputation.” John says.

“A reputation?” Tommy questions, voice approprietly raspy and curious. “Reputation for what?”

“Hell if I know,” sighs John. “Probably as a warrior, I suppose. You know how much money mercenaries are paid. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up becoming one.”

“Don’t say that.” snaps Jenna. “He was fuckin sixteen. He’s too young to become a killer for hire.”

“He already is.” Cuts in a deep voice, and everyone turns to see the weaponsmith glaring at them with his single eye. A young looking teen follows behind him, clad in leather and with hands covered in charcoal. The weaponsmith’s son greets Wilbur and Tommy enthusiastically, and Phil feels relief at the knowledge that both of them will be entertained for this conversation. He thinks it might get ugly. The weaponsmith looks at Phil with a calculating gaze, almost daring him to contradict him.

“Don’t bullshit me, Jason, he’s barely old enough to start his weapons training, nevermind become a mercenary!” the carpenter spits, but the weaponsmith only shakes his head.

“Trust me. It takes one to know one. He may be a child, but he has already surpassed any prior training I had before retiring here. Didn’t you see the way he looked around, analyzing the village for danger when he first got here? I saw him wandering the village at night, too, fighting monsters and trading the drops to the cleric. Kid knows how to fight from experience, not through teaching. If he’s not a mercenary, he’s sure as hell a soldier. I’ve been both. I would know.”

Jenna looks rips her scorching gaze away from him, scowling at the ground. John looks crestfallen.

“This is all well and good,” Phil says, “But that doesn’t help me determine where he _went.”_

“Just look in the next town over, Phil, he’s impossible to miss with that fancy new mask of his. A boar, huh? Fittin for a kid like him, I suppose. Never thought I’d see a human-piglin hybrid in my lifetime.” John tells him, patting his shoulder. 

“And his name? Please tell me he at least told you his name.” Phil says, feeling tired and the beginnings of a headache.

“Technoblade.” the weaponsmith tells him, curt. “It’s the name he gave us.”

“Definitely sounded like a player's name. Congrats Phil, looks like you’re a father of three now. How ya feelin?” Jenna sniggers. 

“Technoblade, huh?” Phil mutters. He can’t remember why, but the name sounds familiar.

Looking back up at the villagers in front of him, he sighs, bringing a resigned smile to his face.

“Thank you for your help. I’m sorry if I seem snappish.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. We get it, being a new dad is stressful. Especially to a kid like that. Man, the poor boy was covered in scars. Really unfortunate if you ask me.” the farmer says, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah yeah, shut y'all's yappin and get yer asses to the village inn, Ash’s probably caught wind of y’all’s presence by now. Get your kids, too, they wandered off with Jason’s son overthere. We all know what happens when those three are left unattended.”

Phil stiffens, whipping around to look behind him, and sure enough, Tommy, Wilbur, and the weaponsmith’s son were all gone. He curses under his breath, stopping only to thank the villagers once again before heading off to find his kids. Hopefully they wouldn’t get into too much trouble.

Still, he can’t stop the quiet nagging in his mind that there’s more to this Techno kid than initially thought.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
